


all the redemption i can offer

by Anonymous



Series: thunder road [2]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2017-10-17
Packaged: 2019-01-18 16:19:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12391698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Kindness, and its strange relationship with truth. Veronica Lodge investigates.





	all the redemption i can offer

Cheryl came back to school, as haughty as ever. Veronica thought that maybe Cheryl looked a little paler, but then again, maybe that was just how the Blossoms wintered -- like people out of a fairy tale, so pale their skin seemed translucent. The important thing was: Cheryl's lipstick game remained unbeatable, blood red and vivid and never a smudge. Veronica and Kevin spent many a lunch period bemoaning this and watching Covergirl ads on Kevin's phone.

Betty, seated on Kevin's other side, peeked over his shoulder. "V," she said, "that color's really pretty. It'd look nice on you."

"I can't," said Veronica. "Too bright a red washes me out."

Betty accepted this with a little nod, but Kevin shot Veronica a look of outraged disbelief. He swelled up, ready to protest -- it was a stretch: as if _Cheryl_ could wear bright red but Veronica couldn't -- but Veronica kicked him under the table. She shook her head.

When the video ended, Betty returned to her lunch. Across from her, Archie was hunched over the table, copying her homework in preparation for sixth period biology. Betty watched him write and occasionally interrupted him to ask, "Does that make sense?" and "Do you get why?" Sometimes Archie said, "Yeah," and sometimes Archie said, "Wait, so, what's the difference between vesicles and the vacuole?" Then Betty would explain, moving packets of ketchup on the table to illustrate. Some things, Veronica reflected, hadn't changed much from second grade.

"I think it's a kind of lip stain," said Kevin, now thumbing through an Elle article on his phone. "Look at this: _Creme teintante pour la plage_ , water-resistant color for cheeks and lips -- what? Both? Is it like two-in-one shampoo and conditioner?"

"Beach tint," Veronica told him, spearing a piece of papaya with her fork. "It goes under the gloss."

When the bell rang, their only conclusion was that Covergirl was too plebian for Cheryl's taste. Tomorrow, they'd try Guerlain. Then Kevin went off to what passed as music class these days, though with all the short-term substitutes, it was more like study hall where they watched _Amadeus_ a lot. Archie gave Betty back her homework and came around the table to pick up Veronica's books. The two of them had history next. Betty had math with Dilton Doiley and the Math Olympiad team; from how Betty told it, it was the sort of class where they gravely discussed vector functions and Raj once almost came to fisticuffs with Emil over eigenvalue calculation. Betty seemed to enjoy it. Before she left for her solemn mathetmatics, though, she said, "V, I can't come to practice today. There's a planning committee for the Valentine's dance."

After football season, Vixens practice was mostly optional, and besides, Veronica ran things with a slacker rein than Cheryl had. "Sure, that's fine. Is it going to run late? Do you want us to wait for you?"

"No, no --"

Archie frowned. "Are you going to walk home by yourself? We can wait, Betty."

Betty smiled up at him. She promised to be careful about any currently or imminently active murderers roaming the streets of Riverdale, and assured them that she'd catch a ride with someone if it got dark. Then the warning bell rang. They hurried off.

* * *

After practice, Veronica went to collect Archie from the music rooms. She found him leaning against the door jamb of where the Pussycats were practicing. Rather, where they were not practicing. It sounded like they were gossiping about music plans for the Valentine's dance. Veronica didn't know why Archie bothered with rumor, when his best friend was vice-president of the student council and chaired the planning committee -- nonetheless, Veronica left him alone and waited by the door until the conversation wrapped up. She wasn't in a hurry to make small talk with Valerie. They weren't unfriendly, exactly, but some awkwardness was surely inevitable when two girls date the same boy within the same month-span.

Soon, Archie closed the door behind him. "Sorry, did I make you wait?"

"I am inclined to forgive you," Veronica said, and Archie smiled like he understood that he was already forgiven. He offered to take her bookbag. Veronica considered his shoulders: they were certainly broad enough to carry two backbacks. So she handed hers over.

In the lobby, they came across Jughead. He was slouched on a bench, reading, long legs stretched out in front of him. His hat was pulled low.

"Jug!" exclaimed Archie. Two bookbacks were no impediment to vaulting over Jughead's legs and flinging himself onto the bench as well.

Veronica approached more slowly. "Well," she said, "I guess this explains why Betty didn't need us to wait for her."

Jughead's eyes flickered up to meet hers. He didn't say anything, and after another moment, he looked back to Archie. There was an imperciptible thawing. "Hey," Jughead almost smiled.

"So?" asked Archie, earnest. "How are you? How's Southside? You should come over more -- Dad's up and moving already, did I tell you? He'll be really happy to see you."

As if Jughead had not been over last weekend, and the weekend before that, and -- really, a month of weekends.

Veronica sighed, tucked her hair behind her ears, and went to perch on the bench armrest next to Archie. They were going to be here a while. She listened to Archie and Jughead talk -- or rather, Archie talk and Jughead make inquirying noises. Strange, the things Archie thought important to mention: football, the amended lunch menu, the water fountain in the science wing that had finally given up its ghost and sprayed anyone who used it with rusty water, like some macabre blood fountain.

When Archie moved on to detailing his winter conditioning regimen, even Jughead's eyes started to glaze over. Veronica gave up entirely and occupied herself with _Monument Valley_ on her phone.

At the sound of voices from down the hall, Jughead retracted his legs. He levered himself into a vertical position. The chattering group of the dance planning committee came into view. Betty was towards the rear of the group talking with Ethel Muggs, but seeing Jughead she broke off and went to him, smile bright and eyes even brighter. She took his hand and went on tiptoe -- and caught sight of Archie and Veronica over Jughead's shoulder. "Oh!" -- falling back on her heels. "You guys waited!"

Veronica sent her a speaking smile.

Ethel had followed Betty. As the rest of the planning committee went out into the winter evening, she hovered for a moment, uncertain -- ready, it seemed, to leave as well. Then: "Hey, Ethel," said Jughead.

"Hey, Jughead," answered Ethel. A pause -- "Hey Veronica, Archie."

A strange silence followed. Veronica looked at Jughead, then at Ethel. Ethel looked at Jughead, and Jughead looked at Betty. Betty looked at her shoes. Archie pulled out a pack of gum from a pocket, unwrapped a piece for himself, and offered the pack to the group at large. No one took him up on his offer.

"Pop's?" suggested Veronica brightly. "Since you're back in the neighborhood, Jughead. And Archie probably wants to start lobbying Madam Chairwoman about the dance music -- but is it really cronyism, do you think, when no money is involved?"

Now Jughead looked at her, mouth flat. Archie protested the use of "cronyism" and Ethel, startled into laughter, assured him that it wasn't the case. Veronica waited for Betty to extend the invitation to Ethel -- Betty was always doing that to people, warm and sweet, _oh_ , _you should come with us_ \-- but Betty continued to stare at her shoes, weirdly silent.

Instead, Archie invited Ethel, reasoning that "if there are two of you, then it's less cronyism or whatever, right? Anyway, I'll play you a demo, Ethel, you'll like it. It's _totally_ appropriate for Valentine's."

"Ugh," said Jughead. He made a face. No doubt he hated the holiday and objected to it on a spiritual level and wished death upon all lovers. Veronica smiled to herself. She felt a sudden rush of affection for Jughead Jones, half-inexplicable: he was such a bitch, but such reasoning could hardly be said out loud.

* * *

At Pop's, they sorted themselves by elementary school rules -- boys on one side, girls on the other. Veronica and Archie were tucked in closest to the wall, which afforded enough cover for her to tease Archie into a few rounds of footsie. It was very charming.

Betty had recovered her usual good spirits. She smiled, she joked, she made all the correct sounds of sympathy when Ethel talked about her father's reconstructive mouth surgery. Archie paused the footsie during this topic. Despite his father's gunshot wound, Archie retained a general boyish enthusiasm for gore; and, now that his father was on the mend, it had become a matter of considerable interest to him how other gunshot wounds healed.

Veronica tried not to listen too closely. She could not forget why Mr. Muggs needed reconstructive mouth surgery, why Mr. Muggs had shot himself, why Mr. Muggs had been driven to it. She could not forget why -- and who.

She nibbled on a French fry. Ethel knew quite a bit about throat anatomy and jaw structure. Veronica ate another fry. She considered the potato texture inside the fry. Was it more like mashed potato or baked potato? She didn't know. They didn't really eat such heavy starches at home. Her parents preferred --

Veronica pushed her plate away.

Ethel was winding down now, that the prognosis looked good, that there would be speech theraphy and physical therapy and all manner of things in the future, but Mr. Muggs would be able to eat solids after this.

"What's he want for his first meal? -- a First Supper, I suppose," said Jughead.

"Pizza."

Jughead nodded like this was a good, wise choice. He tapped his milkshake straw consideringly. "I'd maybe go with that too. Pizza, or the burgers here."

"My mom's cherry pie," said Betty, catching on, "with a spoon of ice cream on the side."

Ethel said, "Those lemon chiffon cakes the Booster club used to sell --" and the boys nodded knowingly. She explained to Veronica, "Mrs. Moraine used to make them, before her arthritis got too bad. They were the fluffiest cakes in town. Half the turnout at football games were for those cakes."

Archie could not allow such slander against the appeal of football, but he was unanimously overruled. He subsided and considered his own pick. "Remember those dinosaur nuggets Jug's mom used to make?"

Jughead raised an eyebrow. "The ones ... she microwaved?"

"They were good! She'd draw eyes with the ketchup."

"Archie always ate the tail first," Betty told Veronica. "So the dinosaurs could bear witness to their slow demise."

"Betty!" Archie spluttered. Next to him, Jughead dissolved into quiet laughter.

Then it was just Veronica. What could she say? _Le Bernadin; the escolar is divine?_  In a game of superlatives, Veronica could only crush everyone else; in a game of shared memory, Veronica was not even playing with the same deck. Under the table, she fiddled with her rings.

"V?" asked Betty.

Veronica lifted her chin and smiled. "Pancakes, of course -- in dark amber syrup, aged next to a truly _excruciating_ amount of heroin."

It went over well enough. No one questioned her. There was a pause, then Archie leaned forward, his elbows on the table, shoulders hunched and grave. " _Guys_. Do you suppose they were lacing the syrup, before?"

"Jesus Christ," said Jughead.

Archie thought this would be an excellent story for the B&G. Betty, demonstrating sensible self-preservation, steered the conversation toward the dance instead. Then of course Ethel had to listen to Archie's demos: "You sound very nice," she said kindly, but Archie said, "No, what did you think of the _lyrics_?"

That set them off. While Archie made a point to differentiate between lyrics and poetry, Ethel did not. She had a number of opinions on word choice, and anaphora, and rhyme scheme. Similes were nice, but extended metaphors were really much more illustrative. She generally approved of the emotional tone of the song; she thought if Archie really dug deep, he could go even darker. After a moment, Archie pulled out a notebook and took notes.

Betty, in a sidebar undertone, talked more generally about the dance. Veronica listened and Jughead pretended not to. The committee was thinking about making the dance a Sadie Hawkins, though there were some concerns that it would undermine the more conventional appeal of Valentine's.

"Yes," said Jughead, dryly, "the superficial swapping of gender roles will ruin the conformist appeal of the year's most commercial holiday. You're killing romance here, Betts."

"Do you think Valentine's is more commercial than _Christmas_ , Jughead?" Veronica asked archly.

He eyed her for a moment. "Sure," he said, not exactly cold -- but easy, lackadaisical. Different from how he had sounded with Betty just now: not so much a difference in warmness as in keenness. It was not an _obvious_ difference, but Veronica did not need obvious. Veronica had lived her life in inflections.

Yet, why should she wonder; of course there would be a difference. And Jughead was such a prickly soul. Veronica wondered if he was shy.

Betty, meanwhile, was saying that insofar as a girl asking a boy to a dance still felt vaguely transgressive, then there was still a point to Sadie Hawkins; but half the appeal of Valentine's was traditional romance and she didn't think there was anything necessarily wrong with --

She stopped mid-sentence. Ethel had excused herself to the restroom. Betty watched her leave, then abruptly turned to Archie. "Arch, when she gets back, ask to borrow her crockpot."

"Her -- _what_ , why?"

"Her _dad_ ," said Betty, like this was obvious. It was not obvious. "He has _mouth surgeries_ coming up. You know how that's going to be like. Mrs. Muggs won't be in any mood to cook."

"But why her cr -- _ohhhhh_. Wait, no, you borrow it."

"Would _you_ believe that my mother doesn't own a crockpot? _And_ a backup?"

Veronica watched this exchange as it ping-ponged back and forth. Mystified, she looked at Jughead to see if he understood, but Jughead was devoted to his milkshake and entirely ignored the conversation.

When Ethel returned, Archie initiated a confused, stammering inquiry into the Muggs family crockpot situation. He was a slightly better dissembler than Betty, which was to say terrible but minimally effective. It helped that Ethel was not naturally suspicious.

"Oh, sure," she said. "Do you want me to bring it to school or ... ?"

"No, no, I -- uhm -- can swing by -- "

Veronica, hiding a smile, watched as Archie's ears turned firetruck red.

* * *

"So? What was the crockpot thing about?" she asked Archie, after Jughead rumbled off in his father's truck to take Ethel home. Betty, of course, had gone along. The Muggs lived farther out from the center of town, in a nice neighborhood rather more upscale than Elm Street.

Jughead had not exactly offered, though he also had not stopped Betty from offering, Veronica a ride as well. But Veronica had a large allowance and a late curfew. She did not need a ride and had no intention of returning home so early -- so she and Archie were walking in the late January dusk. Around them, the snow looked faintly blue, and up above, the streetlamps glowed a warm yellow. It was as postcard picturesque as Veronica could have wanted.

Now, Archie said, "Oh, that." He blew out a breath. It hung in the air for a moment, a white cloud coalesced in the cold.  "It's just -- a thing -- they used to do it for us, too -- Dad and me, I mean. When my mom left."

Veronica slipped her hand through the crook of his arm.

"It was kind of rough going for a while, 'cause Dad and I didn't -- ... Anyway, they'd ask to borrow a pot and it'd come back filled with chili, or they'd borrow the car and the gas would be topped off -- you know, as thanks I guess, but -- pretty sure the borrowing was just a cover."

He bent down, gathered up some snow and formed it into a snowball, then punted it a far distance. Veronica watched the curve of its rising arc until it disappeared into the night. They resumed walking.

She asked, "Who's they? Mrs. Cooper?"

Archie coughed out a laugh. "Ha, Betty's mom? No, no, she's not like that. Mr. Cooper for the gas sometimes, but mostly Jug's mom. She'd send chili over a lot. And pot pie. And all of third grade she packed lunch for both me and Jughead."

"Dino nuggets," realized Veronica.

"Yeah," said Archie.

They were quiet for a little while.

"Are you going to send Ethel chili?"

"I guess? Not _me_ , but ... Betty'll take care of it."

"Why do you need the excuse, though? Why don't you just ... send it over?"

Archie chewed on this. Veronica supposed some tact was warranted. After all, _she_ had 'sent' Ethel many things before in straightforward sympathy.

"I guess we could," allowed Archie finally. "But they can't really return the favor right now. It's kind of uncomfortable to not be able to return the favor, isn't it -- so we try to not make it obvious ... Betty'd explain it better."

Veronica frowned, trying to follow this emotional arithmetic. "Why would they need to return anything? It's a gift. It's a kindness."

But here, Archie was sure-footed. "Sure we return gifts. I mean, we _exchange_ gifts. And you try to stay in everybody's budget when you get gifts. Like, Betty and me try not to get Jug -- " He caught himself. He looked at her guiltily, like he had something he was not supposed to, and did not continue.

Veronica supposed Jughead was poor -- poorer than most in Riverdale. He lived in a trailer, and not for camping. What Veronica had seen of the trailer had been small and cramped and chilly. She tried to imagine what it would be like to live there, year round -- but that was like trying to determine potato texture: she didn't have the relevant background knowledge.

As for Ethel ... Veronica tucked the thought away for later. Now, she said to Archie, willing to change the subject from Jughead and his secret, shameful gift-budget poverty: "What _is_ Mama Cooper like, then? While Papa Cooper filled up the gas tank?"

"Hoo boy," said Archie, like this was going to be doozy -- and it turned out that Mrs. Cooper _was_ a doozy: there had been a lice outbreak at the beginning of third grade, and Mrs. Cooper harbored magnificent doubts re: Mr. Andrews' abilities as a parent and a man and a primate to groom his own child, so she had marched over and dragged Archie under the showerhead to thoroughly scrub his hair with delousing shampoo, and raided every closet and linen cupboard in the Andrews' house to launder --

"No!" exclaimed Veronica on a gurgle of laughter.

"It was like a tornado sweeping through," complained Archie, a decade after the fact. He scratched his head. "And there I was, soaking in my pajamas. I didn't even _have_ lice but that shampoo made me itch for _weeks_."

* * *

Betty invited them over for a cake sampling. She had recently come into possession of a domino cake mold or something -- Veronica was not too clear on the details.

She was the first to arrive, though it was the weekend and both boys were only next door. "Next door, with their boy sense of time," sighed Veronica, letting Betty hang up her coat. "Which is to say, none."

Betty's mouth quirked at the corners, like she was suppressing a smile. She admitted, "I told them a later time. Well -- " defensive, seeing Veronica's astonishment -- "because they always eat half the batter before I can even get it in the oven. They'll get salmonella! It doesn't even taste good! It's not cookie dough!"

Veronica looped her arm through Betty's and headed for the kitchen. "So much the better," she declared. "I wanted some girl-time with you anyway. What are you making today? What's a domino cake mold?"

"A checkerboard cake pan set," laughed Betty.

Veronica wrinkled her nose. "Where did you get that?"

"Some sketchy guy on eBay," said Betty, dimpling.

A checkerboard cake pan set turned out to be some hollow dartboard-like contraption, with a vaguely Cold War era aesthetic -- though, in fairness, all non-glass bakeware looked vaguely Cold War era to Veronica. Betty had been mixing the batter already when Veronica arrived. In fact, there were two kinds of batter -- vanilla and red velvet, said Betty -- which made sense given the checkboard-theme. Veronica offered to help, more out of politeness than any real expectation of being able to assist, but Betty had things well in hand. She assured Veronica there wasn't much left to do. So Veronica leaned against the kitchen island, nursing a glass of virgin orange juice, and watched Betty crack eggs.

"Did you get a lot of Betty Crocker teasing when you started baking?"

Betty huffed a laugh. "Archie and Jughead thought they were _so_ clever with that." She cracked another two eggs, threw out the eggshells, rinsed her hands. Then the mixing began. A large wooden spoon broke the yolks, streaking yellow through the batter.

"Are you going to make chili for Ethel?" Betty glanced up in some surprise. "Archie explained it to me. The whole crockpot thing."

"Maybe chili," said Betty. "Maybe pot roast? Though chili keeps better, I guess."

Veronica ran a finger along the rim of her glass. The kitchen lights glowed on Betty's golden head. She was wearing an apron, practical and unfussy, a soft pink color. And she was talking about making pot roast. It was like a scene out of a movie. An illustration from one of those inter-war era ladies magazines on good housekeeping. Or both: Barbara Stanwyck in _Christmas in Connecticut_ , exemplifying ideal womanhood to a wounded war hero ...

It was hard confessing to such a vision.

"Do you think ... when I gave Ethel those things, and invited her over for brunch ... was that mean?"

"Ronnie!" Betty set down her mixing spoon. She stared. "Of course not! How could you think --"

"You know, _flaunting_ , kind of?" Veronica continued. "Sorry your dad's business failed, here, have all this stuff you can't afford anymore -- "

"No. _No_ , you didn't mean -- "

" -- and my father! Who had taken it all away! And there I was, giving -- what -- _clothes_? _Cast-off_ clothes? As if that could make up for -- "

"You did not know it was your father," said Betty firmly. "You were not trying to make up for anything. You were trying to be kind."

"Kind!" cried Veronica. "What does that mean? Give her things she couldn't _possibly_ reciprocate? What do I care about reciprocation? But -- if I _know_ she can't reciprocate, isn't that just charity? Isn't that why you're orchestrating this whole elaborate -- crockpot -- pot roast -- _thing_?" She flung a hand a gesturing hand at the stove.

"Oh," said Betty and hummed thoughtfully.

They were quiet a moment. Veronica bit her lip. She admitted, "I don't know how this works."

"I think you're doing okay," said Betty. She returned to the batter. "Ethel's having a hard time, so we try to make things easier on her. It's not more complicated than that."

"I don't want to _buy_ her an easier time!"

Betty smiled. "That's really what it is sometimes, V."

"So, what, the thought counts?"

"Mm-hmm," said Betty. She pulled the cake pan closer and lifted one of the batter bowls to pour. "And Ethel's not like, a shrinking violet or anything, you know? If you're really worried, you can talk to her about it; she'll tell you."

Veronica propped her chin in one hand. It seemed simple, when Betty talked about it, but being nice came so naturally to Betty. It did not come naturally to Veronica. Maybe meanness had taken practice, but no more than running in four inch stilettos did. Kindness, meanwhile, was like walking a tightrope. One wrong step, and you veered into unkindness: the Anna Karenina principle in action. Veronica didn't know how to manage it.

Gift-giving had seemed like the thing to do with Ethel: cute, sad Ethel with her stout-hearted earnestness and overly personal poetry. Veronica was good at giving gifts -- it had been her first language, after all, before English or Spanish or French. But it turned out that gift-giving was not the Riverdale way -- Archie had smiled and said "Oh, wow" and "Thanks, Ronnie" and "You know you don't have to get me all this stuff, right?" in a vaguely concerned voice, which Veronica interpreted to mean _please, stop_. The Riverdale way seemed to consist more of eating together and being quiet supportive in the hospital and role playing _Clue_. It was all murder investigations and elbow-grease with them.

Betty finished up her batter-pouring. She tapped the pans against the island counter a few times -- "Bubbles," she explained, incomprehensibly. Into the oven the pans went. Betty set the oven timer, rinsed out the batter bowls, put away the ingredients, tidied up the counter space, wiped everything down with a dishrag. This all took less than five minutes; the kitchen gleamed again, all stainless steel appliances and warm maplewood cabinetry.

"How are you even real," said Veronica, and finished the rest of her orange juice.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [1] FP's contribution after Mary left: he ran into Fred at the liquor store one day. That night he took a baseball bat to the Andrews' mail box. "What," said Fred the next day, and then went and bought a new mail box. FP came back with the baseball bat. "What the fuck," said Fred, and spent the next few weeks trying to set up a video surveillance system to catch the culprit. He never caught the hooligan, but occupied as he was with his neighborhood watch, he also didn't go back to the liquor store.
> 
> (Alice, whose Neighborhood Watch was organized and registered, of course knew everything; but the Andrews' mail box had been an eyesore, and while she could roll her eyes at Jones, Number Seven, QB, she found herself surprisingly nostalgic over Jones, Number Seven, Shortstop -- so she didn't tell.)
> 
> [2] _A Christmas in Connecticut_ (1945) -- of course, what makes the movie a screwball is that Barbara Stanwyck's "ideal womanhood" is all a sham


End file.
